


Unwritten

by nevermindgrantaire



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, book shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:32:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevermindgrantaire/pseuds/nevermindgrantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire works in a bookshop, does a lousy job and is generally hung over and inappropriate.<br/>A chance meeting the night before is about to become something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwritten

 

 

 

 

F ** _read_** om, the sign above the green-painted door reads.

Books are double-stacked on the shelves, and on top of the shelves all the way up to the ceiling. They’re stacked up high on tables and against the free space on the walls and on the counter. There’s the tiny main room, with the front counter and all of the most recent releases, and then there’s the kids room through a little door in the corner with a huge wooden toy castle taking up most of the room and with books stacked along the crenulations.

Then there’s another room up a metal-worked spiral staircase, filled with fairy-lights and all the romance books. There’s a room crammed with non-fiction, the ceiling papered with old maps of the constellations. There’s a conservatory café in the roof, with a balcony reading area, staffed by a grumpy girl who smokes out of the back window whenever the customers aren’t looking and a freckly boy who appears oblivious to everything and trips over his own feet a lot.

 

Grantaire is slumped over the front counter, bored and tired and hung over, reading from a book of poetry and groaning whenever anyone tries to talk to her. There’s a huge steaming mug next to her, with “Paint water!” scrawled over it. It contains a milky brown liquid, hopefully coffee, but she’s not really tasting it. She feels like shit.

Partially hidden behind a wobbling pile of books, Jehan trips over to her and deposits them on her desk with a crash and a grin. They smirk a little sadistically when she winces at the loud noise. “I’m going to have to ban you from going out with Joly and Bossuet on work nights completely,” they say with a laugh.

“Ah, leave me alone. You’re just jealous,” Grantaire jokes back, massaging her temples.

“Jealous of your spectacular hang over and those stylish black circles under your eyes? Sure. Top of the range look, that. It’ll be in all the magazines this spring.”

“Nah,” Grantaire lolls her head back and tilts back in her stool, stretching out with a moan. “Jealous of the fact that I actually met a girl last night.”

Jehan raises their eyebrows.

“No seriously. A real, live girl. With eyelashes and boobs and everything.”

Laughing, Jehan starts to stack the books onto the book shelf beside the counter. They have to stand up on tip toe to reach the highest shelf, even though they’re 6 foot 3 in their socks. “I’m impressed. Did you get her number?”

There is a pause. Then the sound of Grantaire’s head hitting the cash register, and a faint whimper. “I knew I forgot something,” she whispers. Although, to be honest, she doesn’t actually remember much about the night before.

Jehan tuts quietly under their breath. “Daft,” they admonish. “Utterly daft.”

Grantaire watches them leave and takes another gulp of the dubious ‘coffee’. She looks around the bookshop, glowers at the few customers that are milling around, and slides down on the stool that she is trying to balance on.

She can remember the girl. That’s the bit of the night before that she remembers most clearly. Golden hair and a bright red sequinned dress, socially awkward. Her voice far too cold until the strawberry flavoured vodka that she was knocking back like it was orange squash had warmed it up a little. Lips that tasted like heaven and skin burning up under her touch, slick with the heat of the bar and the smears of lipstick that R left along her throat.

She hadn’t gotten a name off her, either, she realises.

She groans.

Then she turns back to her little book of poetry, hung over and grumpy.

 

 

The thing is, Grantaire reads a lot. Contrary to what Jehan seems to think, she doesn’t actually love to go out every night. Her perfect night involves a bottle of whiskey, sure, but it also involves an interesting treatise on the modern day political system or one of the newest Terry Pratchett books. Even a hefty Shakespeare volume. She’ll honestly read anything.

But her best friends, Joly and Bossuet and Musi, they all live on the other end of town and it’s rare that they all get to see each other at the same time. And Joly lives in a permanent state of stressed out panic, and Musi is always wanting to just let go and have some fun, and obviously the moment Joly and Bossuet get together its automatic bad news because they’re like a hyperactive pair of puppies.

She has no idea how Musichetta can deal with them on a full time basis.

But they like to go out, and she likes to make them happy and she isn’t averse to the idea of getting utterly wasted so she goes along with it most of the time. It’s the morning after that she always has an issue with.

“Ugh.” She says, partly to herself, and partly to Jehan’s perky retreating back. “Ugh.”

A guy in a dark blue coat with coke-bottle glasses is hovering near the desk, holding a book to his chest, and she scowls at him. He takes this as his cue to talk, his voice far too loud and brash for her mood. “Hi, um, I…”

“Don’t talk. Just give me the book.”

“Um. Ok.” He hands the book over, and she scans it, takes his money and hands over his change. Even the sound of the cash register makes her wince.

“There you go. Thank you for your silence,” she whispers.

As he leaves, the guy looks back at her, slightly scared. She glowers, returning to her book.

She’s barely scanning the pages. There’s a curl hanging down in front of her vision and it’s bothering her but she lacks the energy and will to move it. The word “ugh” seems to sum up her feelings perfectly.

“Hi, excuse me?” A voice behind her, far too snippy for this time in the morning, attempts to start a conversation.

“Yes? It’s too damn early, what do you want?” Grantaire sighs, turning round with an overdramatic droop of her shoulders. “Oh!” She is nose to nose with the owner of the voice, eye to eye with their glasses, and she leans back. “Sorry. What do you want?”

The owner of the voice… looks familiar somehow. Maybe a regular customer, but Grantaire doesn’t reckon she’s seen her around the shop before. She’s short and curvy, slightly on the chubbier side, wearing a red skirt and neat maroon heels under a black coat. Her hair’s bright brassy blonde, tied back with a red scrunchie and her eyes are dark and huge and glowy. _Fuck me, she’s pretty,_ Grantaire thinks.

“It’s past twelve,” the girl says, unamused, and presses her lips together. “I thought you were meant to be polite to your customers, or is that just a rumour?”

Grantaire’s jaw almost drops, but she manages to swallow back her grin. Sliding her elbows along the counter to look up at the girl, she quirks an eyebrow. “My most express apologies, miss. It will be my pleasure to do whatever you ask of me.”

The girl steps back. “Don’t be sarcastic.” She tuts, checks her watch and looks back to her. “I need a book.”

When she flips her ponytail and undoes the hair tie holding it up so that her gold hair falls in a cascade around her shoulders, Grantaire’s memory switches into overdrive. _Oh my god_ , she thinks. _It’s her. From last night._ “Well then, you came to the right place. We have hundreds of ‘em.” She falls back into the skin of sarcasm like it’s second nature, not used to her conquests not recognising her. She wonders whether she should say something. But what would she say? _You seemed much nicer last night? Sorry but we made out, you don’t seem to remember?_

“I need a specific book.” The girl says, and rolls her eyes.

“Big ones, small ones. Paperbacks, hardbacks, graphic novels, fantasy.” She draws out the syllables of the last word, accompanied by a vaudeville eyebrow wiggle.

The girl glowers at her, and R matches her pout until she stops, blushing. “Be serious. This is important.”

“Ok, ok. Sorry. I’ll shut up.” She grins cheekily. “Well, miss…?”

“Enjolras.”

“Miss Enjolras. God, that is a mouthful. I am happy to be of service.”

She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and passed it over. “They’re important, I need them for class.”

Grantaire looks the list over and smiles slowly, stretching her lanky limbs as she strolls round the counter. “Politics?”

“Pol sci, yeah.”

Grantaire whistles through her teeth. From over by the classics department, Jehan raises their glasses, begging her telepathically not to start going on, but she just turns to the shelves and starts picking out the books that she wants.

“What about you?”

“Art college drop out.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It was a shitty college to be fair. Only place that would accept me with my attendance record.”

Enjolras blinks. She’s playing with her hair. Grantaire can’t stop looking for a moment- the lack of recognition bothers her. “Oh.”

Grantaire doesn’t answer, just adds the final book to the pile and hands them over, smirking a little in vindictive pleasure when the girl underestimates their weight and almost falls over. She can just about make out the ghost of a love-bite on the girl’s jaw, and that confirms it- it’s definitely her.

“Are you ok?” The girl asks, poking her arm with the corner of a book.

“Fine, fine. Anything else for you?”

“Um,” The girl looks at the ceiling for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Yes, actually.”

“Please don’t make it too complicated, I don’t think my poor brain can handle it.”

Enjolras laughs. “I think you can just about manage. Your number, please.”

Grantaire stops. “I’m sorry?”

“Your number,” the girl continues blithely. “You forgot to give it to me last night.”

“You do remember me!”

“Of course I remember you.” She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t usually make out with people when drunk and forget them the next day. And I have the good sense to not get _too_ drunk.”

“I swear you had at least 6 shots of that strawberry stuff.”

“I can hold my drink.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Grantaire raises her eyebrows with a smirk, as she starts to ring the books through.

“Definitely.” Enjolras is leaning across the counter. “We will have to try again some time.”

Her face is too close for Grantaire to resist, and she leans across and boops a kiss on the end of Enjolras’ nose quickly. _Was that weird? I hope I didn’t make it weird._

Enjolras raises her eyebrows, lips twisting into a smile. “That’s cute,” she says flatly. “You can do better.”

Grantaire kisses her again, on the mouth this time and Enjolras gives a muffled little sound of approval, bringing one hand to rest on the pile of books and one bunching up the fabric of R’s t-shirt collar. She’s smiling for once, and it’s completely devoid of sarcasm. It makes Grantaire grin.

“I must say, I was surprised to see you in here,” Enjolras continues like normal when Grantaire pulls away although she’s proud to note that Enjolras’ cheekbones are highlighted with a blush and her lips are reddened.

“To be honest, you too,” Grantaire agrees. “But a good surprise?”

“Definitely,” Enjolras repeats, leaning across the counter again and then catching sight of the clock behind her and snapping back up. “Shit!”

“What?”

“I’ve got to dash, I’m meant to be meeting a friend! Here!” She grabs a pen and scribbles something onto the page of the book that Grantaire had been reading at the desk. “Call me!”

Grantaire watches her hurtle out the door with a smile that borders on soppy, and picks up the book. Enjolras has scribbled her number, and a tiny uneven doodle of a heart beside it.

She traces the numbers with her finger, her hangover mysteriously cured with the power of pretty girls.


End file.
